Eating has become a luxury.

There was a time when you could walk into McDonald’s with some loose change and come out with a hamburger.

I remember hamburgers for 29 cents.

Today you practically have to sell your McDonald’s stock to afford lunch at McDonald’s.

And it isn’t just hamburgers.

Everything costs more. Meat. Vegetables. Eggs. Restaurants. Transportation. Labor. Packaging. Apparently even the little piece of parsley they put beside your steak now requires financing.

Meanwhile, enormous quantities of perfectly good food are thrown away every day.

This bothers me.

Particularly when I am hungry.

Which brings me to the all-you-can-eat buffet.

The buffet is one of civilization’s great inventions.

You hand someone $49.95 and they make a terrible mistake.

They tell you that you can eat anything you want.

As much as you want.

This is a dangerous thing to say to someone who remembers 29-cent hamburgers.

Kate and I began wondering whether modern technology could improve the economics of buffet dining.

Suppose, for example, you were identical twins.

Twin Number One enters the buffet.

He eats lobster, prime rib, shrimp and half a cheesecake.

Then somehow Twin Number One disappears and Twin Number Two takes his place.

To the restaurant, nothing has happened.

To the family digestive system, however, capacity has just doubled.

Unfortunately, Kate and I are not identical twins.

There are also several other biological differences that would make the deception difficult.

So we needed engineering.

 

THE TWO-PERSON FAT SUIT

This was our first breakthrough.

Kate and I would enter the restaurant disguised as one exceptionally large person.

I would provide the head.

Kate would occupy the lower digestive department.

The garment would resemble an enormous dinner jacket with enough internal room for two adults, several ventilation ducts and, depending upon the buffet, emergency plumbing.

We would sit with our backs toward the waiters.

I would eat normally.

Kate would have access to the food through a carefully concealed opening somewhere around my third chin.

There was only one technical problem.

Whenever Kate reached for the prime rib, my left breast moved six inches.

People notice this.

 

THE HUMAN OVERCOAT

Children have been doing this for generations.

One child climbs onto another child’s shoulders. They put on a trench coat and attempt to get into an R-rated movie.

Why should children have all the fun?

Kate could sit on my shoulders.

We would wear an eleven-foot overcoat.

The hostess might become suspicious when our knees were six feet above the floor, but we would explain that we’re Canadian.

Canadians are built differently because of the winters.

The major difficulty would come when we reached the buffet.

I would be staring directly at the mashed potatoes.

Kate would be looking down at them from approximately the altitude of a small aircraft.

 

THE BOTTOMLESS HANDBAG

Kate would enter carrying a purse approximately the size of a condominium.

I would be inside.

Every few minutes she would casually place a shrimp near the purse.

The shrimp would disappear.

Then a crab leg.

Then a dinner roll.

Eventually the handbag would ask for horseradish.

At that point the waiter might become suspicious.

THE CONJOINED-TWIN DEFENSE

This one would require legal preparation.

Kate and I would arrive connected by an elaborate garment and explain that while we technically possess two heads, we have only one billable appetite.

If challenged, I would produce a 47-page legal brief.

Page One would begin:

Whereas the aforementioned diners hereinafter referred to as The Stomachs…

Most restaurant managers would surrender by Page Three.

THE BUFFET TIME-SHARE

This may be my favorite.

I purchase one buffet.

From 6:00 until 6:30, I own my digestive system.

At exactly 6:30, ownership transfers to Kate.

We have the documents notarized.

If the restaurant objects, we ask them to identify precisely where in the buffet agreement it says ownership of a stomach cannot be transferred during the contractual dining period.

This would probably result in the manager calling Accounting.

Accounting would call Legal.

Legal would call Security.

THE MAGICIAN

I sit at the table.

The waiter turns around.

Kate is sitting there.

He turns around again.

I’m back.

Kate and I repeat this fifteen times.

Eventually the waiter stops worrying about the buffet and begins questioning the nature of reality.

By dessert he has resigned, joined a monastery and is studying metaphysics.

THEN WE DID THE MATH

The two-person fat suit would have to be custom made.

$1,800.

Alterations: $600.

Reinforced restaurant chair: $425.

Uber XL because we couldn’t fit into a normal automobile: $83.

Consulting engineer: $750.

Emergency zipper repairs: $240.

Attorney to defend our theory that two people temporarily occupying one pair of trousers constitute one customer: $4,500.

Total investment:

$8,398.

Buffet admission saved:

$49.95.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how modern economics works.

We considered abandoning the entire project.

Then Kate noticed that seniors received ten percent off.

We’re back in business.

Unfortunately, we discovered one final flaw in our two-person buffet costume.

Kate and I could eat separately.

We could digest separately.

We could even argue separately.

But we were wearing the same pair of pants.

We saved $49.95.